Caledoniis Mea
by Mean Faol Banrigh
Summary: They had lost. They had held the Roman's off for as long as they could, they had retreated to the islands, and held them off some more, but in the end, it had all been for nothing. He had lost, and there was nothing to be done about it.
1. Conquered

Caledoniis Mea is a Roma/Caledonia 'what if' story, written in an RP between myself and TheDawnCatcher. It starts in approx. AD 83 in the late fall/early winter, and is about what might have happened between Rome and Caledonia if the Battle of Mons Graupius had_ truely_ been successful, and Rome had gained control over Caledonia. I'm very thankful to TheDawnCatcher for the help she is giving with this story *gives my Roma a cookie and huggles* ^^

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, but Caledonia (the younger version of my OC Scotland) is mine.

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><p>Tòmas leaned against a rock, his red curls matted on the back of his head with blood, the braid that hung from just above his right temple stuck to his face with sweat. His side was bleeding and his breathing ragged from the exertion of running to try and hide from the man that had caused this.<p>

That... That fucking Roman bastard! How dare he invade his lands! What had he done to deserve this? He had never even considered doing something so horrible to another country, he was perfectly content and happy in his lands and he didn't need more! And this was how the fates repaid him? By sending this man and his monster of an army to take over his lands and kill his people?

Aristair was safe, though, so that was a plus... But the dog had been left alone... All the way back at his house. The Caledonian almost broke down into tears at the thought of those horrible Roman's getting to his familiar before he could get him. What they might do to his dog, his companion, his friend and familiar, absolutely terrified him. He had left him at home because he didn't want him to get hurt, but he had been so sure that they would win! Or, at least manage to hold them one more time...

The bloodied sword dropped from his grip and he removed his hand from his side, staring at the blood that covered it in mild horror that was heavily masked by an almost blank apathy. They had lost. They had held the Roman's off for as long as they could, they had retreated to the islands, and held them off some more, but in the end, it had all been for nothing. He had lost, and there was nothing to be done about it. There was nothing that could be done even if he rallied the remainder of his people, he could feel in his heart that they had lost faith in their ability to hold the Roman's away. Lost faith in his ability to protect them.

"Oh, Didymus~!" A pleasant sing-song voice floated on the breeze, arrogance and egotism tinging every note. "Come on, parum puer! You can't hide forever~!" Rome strode carelessly through the trees, kicking stones down the hillside, cutting down a branch or two whenever they got in his way. Really, this whole 'invasion' thing had gone on quite long enough. He should have been used to the whole 'beating down the barbarians' routine by now, what with his conquest of Wales, Britannia, the Celts, and the whole of Gaul, but there was something about being an imperial army that made fighting a guerrilla war too damn confusing. Like trying to play tag in a game of hide and seek.

Well, at least threatening to burn their food stocks before winter played more to his advantage, though he could've done without the blasted cold. Rome snapped off the shaft of an arrow that had lodged itself in his arm and the cold wind that blew over the bloody gash in his leg made him shiver. Ah, to be warm and at home again. He'd have to build a new courtyard after this.

A small trail of blood made the going easier, and if the wounds he'd given the boy were as deep as he thought they were, then he'd catch up soon enough.

Tòmas stiffened when he heard the man, leaving the sword where it lay as he got back to his feet and held his side again, staggering down the hill side towards the dip that rolled into yet another large hill. "Watch me" when he voiced the reply that was more to himself than to Rome, his voice sounded foreign, defeated and broken, but stubborn none the less. He had to stop and lean against a tree to catch his breath, and he stayed there longer than he should have. When he started moving again it was only because he could hear the other's footsteps, leaves and twigs crunching under the larger countries feet.

After he started up the hill before him, blood loss made his vision blur and go black for just a moment, but that was enough, and the next thing the boy knew he was rolling backwards back down what progress he had made, landing harshly on his back against a rock and staring up at the clear blue sky through the sparse trees. It was a pretty day, it really was, and something about that just made it so much more wrong that this was actually happening.

He had to hand it to the boy, he moved like a shadow, even with a concussion and a hole in his gut. Even Germania couldn't have done better! Still, he could tell that exhaustion was winning out on him, given the shining streak of blood left on the trunk of a tree where he must have caught his breath. It wasn't too long before he heard the clattering of rocks and crushed underbrush up ahead and picked up the pace.

There, lying stained and smudged in a patch of sunlight, was his prize.

Rome grinned, the thrill of conquest stretching it so far across that his cheeks hurt, as he crouched, leaning over his new possession. "Top of the day to you, parus Didymus. Fine weather, isn't it?" He gently unstuck a lock of hair from the boy's forehead, brushing it aside even as the exhausted red head flinched a little. "Why don't you come back to camp with me? As I think I have an offer you can't really refuse."

Jagged breathes filled the silence for a few moments before Tòmas spoke "I want my dog." He would come with Rome, he didn't have much of a choice, but he would have Aristair with him when he did, and there wasn't a thing that would stop him from leaving the camp as soon as he could to find his way back to his beloved familiar should he be denied the request. "I want my dog, and he had better be safe." His head was swimming, and when he looked at Rome it was with half glazed eyes that somehow managed to come across as defiant.

Rome's grin faltered, just for a second, as he stared down into those determined, glazed over eyes... And then he started laughing. Long and loud, the sound of it reverberating off the mountain sides. The boy looked half-dead! And yet he still had the strength to bargain, and for a dog no less! Lesser men had begged for their own live, or at least those of their compatriots. His chuckles faded into a content sigh. "We'll see boy. We'll see."

Rome grabbed Caledonia around the waist and slung him over his shoulder, seeing as the poor creature couldn't walk on his own, and ignored the weak whimper of protest to the treatment as he retraced his path back down the hill and around the bend, back to the granary where the battle had started, back to camp and a medic.

He'd ask around if anyone had shot or picked up a dog on their way to the site, since that'd make his job a whole lot easier, but if they couldn't he could always get the boy a new dog. Not that hard. Until then, it'd be best to keep him from dying in the near future. Then they could talk about terms.

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><p>AN: Haha, you all only get a little bit~ XD


	2. At the camp

Again, I give my many thanks to TheDawnCatcher for being my lovely Roma and, more recently, a nice medic, RomanEra!Spain and RomanEra!France ^-^

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, but Caledonia (the younger version of my OC Scotland) is mine.

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><p>It didn't take too long to find the thing. Apparently, one of his foot soldiers had a thing for exotic pets and had picked up the hound during a raid somewhere farther south. It had been more than happy to come along at first, but when the battle started the hound started to growl and howl and pull on his leash, and the soldier had stayed behind to keep it in check. Rome reprimanded him, not all too harshly, just gave the impression that there'd be a round of gladiators at the colosseum with his name on it and took the dog for reparations instead. No harm, no foul, right?<p>

The dog seemed to know where he was going, straining to get ahead, whining when they neared the medic's tent. How cute. But he really had to keep a grip on the hound and make him wait his turn. The doctor had just laid out a plate of pasta and a couple globuli beside it. Rome motioned to him and the doctor obediently came, casting a last concerned glance at his patient. "Bonus vesper, Imperator Marcus. The Caledonian is doing better than I had hoped, but it would be wise if-"

"I could ask you a favor? Oh, well, if you insist-" Rome plopped the reins into the man's hands speaking in hushed tones so as not to alert the boy inside, "Could you hold onto him for me just a bit? Yeah, thanks, I swear I won't hurt him, but the dog has a bit of a noise problem, so you might want ta check that." Rome gave him his winner's smile and the medic nodded, putting an arm around the dog and clamping it's mouth shut. "Good boy."

Now, time to make his dramatic entrance.

Tòmas simply stared at the food, slowly propping himself up on his elbows first before pushing himself up into a sitting position, wincing and wavering a little. Licking his lips, he reached out for one of the strange little balls. Picking it up, he sniffed it, discovering it smelled kind of sweet-ish. The thought that they may be trying to poisen him didn't cross his mind, they wouldn't put effort into fixing him up if they were only going to kill him. They would have done it on the spot. Biting into the strange food, he hummed in appreciation, his still child like face lighting up only because he thought they couldn't see him.

"Good, isn't it?" Rome leaned lightly against one of the poles with his arms crossed, smirking at the little pleased sound Tòmas had made. "Horatius could even challenge Vesta, if I do say so myself." Rome meandered over to the other side of the cot, undoing the straps and buckles that kept his heavy armor in place and dumping it all in a pile, rolling his neck back and massaging the muscles to stretch them out. It'd been a long day.

Tomas stared at the man for a moment, envy burning in his chest at the other's broad build when he was still stuck in this childish body, his limbs looking too long for him and his muscles poorly defined, though the one thing they had in common was the way that scars riddled their body, Marcus' from battles to conquer, and his own from the occasional spat that was held amongst his people and fights to defend, though now they felt more like marks of shame than shows of how willing to be free he was. With a scowl looked away from Rome, popping the rest of the small ball of food in his mouth and taking his sweet time in chewing and swallowing before he spoke "I don't know who this 'Vesta' is. Do you have my dog?"

~Caledoniis Mea~Caledoniis Mea~Caledoniis Mea~

Outside with the medic, Aristair was squirming, the large, long-legged pup trying to get free. He could smell his master, and his masters blood. The boy was hurt, and needed him! Whining, he tried at least pulling his head back to free his muzzle, looking up at the medic with large, deep brown eyes.

The medic held on tightly to the poor pup, willing him not to struggle too much. It was an order from Commander the Imperator Marcus of the First Legion, after all, and though there'd once been a time when being a little out of line didn't make one sport for lions, that time had long since passed. Now, all he had to do was wait until the Commander thought the time was right. He'd go back home to his wife and kids, and all would be right with the world. He just could not let go of this dog. ... And then he made the mistake of looking at 'The Face'. ...Just... Hold on, Horatius.

~Caledoniis Mea~Caledoniis Mea~Caledoniis Mea~

Rome's head swung around to stare at him for a moment, before giving a little 'humph' and a chuckle. "You will soon enough, if that Christ crap doesn't get here first." Those jerks have caused him no end of trouble, since the whole "crucifying" thing. And then they'd set fire to Rome. At least, that's what Nero said, but… Rome stretched and cracked his back. And then he'd busted up that Jerusalem place. They hadn't liked that. The tanned nation twisted his arm to inspect the remainder of the arrow shaft, clucking his tongue. "Oh, Horace? Would you come take a look at this?"

The medic hustled into the tent, eagerly plopping the leash back in Rome's open palm, wiping away some nervous sweat with a piece of cloth before setting to work on prying the arrow from Rome's arm. "You know, I like ya kid." The dog lurched towards his young master, and the ripped nation jerked him back. "You're tough, I'll admit, and stubborn. Reminds me of another guy I know, so I'm willing to make ya an offer."

Aristair yelped a little when he was pulled back and stubbornly attempted to pull Rome towards Caledonia.

Tòmas felt his heart jump at the sight of his dog, before his stomach dropped when he was jerked back "H-hey! You're gonna hurt him! Take him off that thing!" he protested, ignoring what Rome had said and moving a little closer to the tanned nation and his scruffy familiar.

"Now, hold on, kid, keep your britches on!" Rome chided him, pushing Tòmas back with his foot since his hands were busy. "You'll get your dog back, so just sit tight and listen."

Tòmas frowned, his slightly large eyebrows knitting together before he nodded "W-what do you want?" he questioned, glaring up at Rome.

"I want you to join my army."

Aristair almost landed the boy backwards when he lunged forward upon release, licking at the boy's face.

Tòmas wrapped his arms around Aristair and nuzzled against the dogs fur, looking up at Rome with a distrusting gaze "Why should I do that?"

Rome sighed, clapping his hands together, tugging the medic and his stitching along with him. "Oh, let me count the ways!" Rome leaned forward, bringing his face close to the Caledonian's, resting his elbows on his knees. The medic shot him a quick glare and followed the motion, stabbing the man hard enough to make him flinch. Rome made as if to smack him and the medic backed up, hands raised, waiting for the nation to lower his so he could cut the string. Rome rolled his eyes and locked them back on Tòmas.

"First of all, there's a nice hefty paycheck you can use anywhere in the Empire, plus all the benefits, training, and status of being an Imperial soldier." The medic tapped his leg, motioning the little stool off to the side and Rome obliged, giving him access to the gash in his leg. "I should probably mention that you'll also be reunited with your brothers, if that means anything to you, since they've already accepted."

"Then they're cowards." Tòmas replied. It mattered little to the boy that his younger brother's had accepted the man's offer, only that they didn't have the guts to stand against the odds. "Being an Imperial soldier matters little to me if I didn't want to be part of the empire to start with." he said firmly, pulling Aristair onto the cot with him as one hand reached up to touch the Torc around his neck.

He had a status of near nobility in the Caledonian Confederacy, and had fought for something he believed in. What made this man think that he would give that up? The fact that he no longer actually represented the Caledonian Confederacy but a part of the Roman empire wasn't the point! It was a matter of pride, and that was the one thing that he had left and could call his own. He wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.

"Call 'em what you will," Rome shrugged, "but they made the smart choice. It took a while, but even the mighty Gaul Germania ended up joining me," for a moment, Rome's smile was chilling, "Everyone does." The medic stabbed him again and he was bright and cheery, the picture of Mediterranean climate, if you discounted the medic getting a foot to the face. "Well, the Eastern front is heating up again, and while we could use you strength and resourcefulness there, it really is your choice. I do suppose we could have a place for you in the fields, or maybe even the slave quarters, if that's more to your liking. You could be a eunuch, though I do say the lions have been running low on chew toys..."

Tòmas frowned deeply. If he thought he was going to work in the feilds, or as the man's servant, then he was out of his mind. And he wasn't sure what an 'eunuch' was, but he wasn't going to be one of those either! Staying silent, Caledonia lay back and hugged Aristair to him. The dog smelled kind of like he could use a good bath... Or maybe that was him. Either way, they both needed to wash off.

"Marcus!"

The Roman jumped and fell off the chair, pulling his leg, stitches, and medic with him. "Luther!" Rome clutched the new tear in his leg, the glare he sot the intruder was ruined as he teared up. "What?" The tall, imposing warrior stood stooped in the entrance, holding the flap of cloth aside. He looked strange in Roman armor, but not uncomfortable, a few strands of long platinum blonde hair sliding off the metal to wave in the breeze. His hard, blue gaze drifted over the scene, from Rome, to the medic, to young Tòmas, and back to Rome. "Wha~aaa~t?" His mouth set in a firm line. "Well, he's being stubborn!" He raised a brow. "Hell, no! Like that'd work, anyhow."

If anyone didn't know better, it kind of looked like the Gaul smirked, but of course that wasn't possible. Germania looked over his shoulder and grunted, "Them?"

Rome mussed his hair and sighed, "Selling 'em, I guess. Get Antonius and Francius to take care of these two, and we'll settle in for the night. Are you done yet?" Rome snapped at the medic, who cut the string and nodded, grumbling something under his breath.

Germania nodded and gestured outside to two young soldiers. One looked like Marcus, with wavy brown hair, tan skin, with green eyes, while the other looked more like Germania, except his hair was shorter, wavier, and he looked as if he'd made some fabulous joke. They really were very young, couldn't be any older than twelve, at most, but their strength belayed their size. They went around on either side of Tòmas and Aristair and reached for them, the blonde taking Tòmas' wrists from behind, the brunet grabbing the makeshift collar and wrapping an arm around the dog's chest.

Tòmas instantly began to struggle, ignoring the pain that it caused as his side began to bleed once more "Let me_ GO_, I can walk on my own!" Yes, the Caledonian was under the impression that they were simply taking him elsewhere to spend the nigh "And _you_" he gave the dark haired one a glare that could have made a kelpie turn tail for the nearest lake "Let go of Aristiar" He hated this. He hated that he was being over powered by people younger than him because of Rome. He hated that there wasn't any way for him to get out of serving that contemptable man in one way or another. He _hated_ this!

"Oh, you're not walking anywhere just yet." Francius turned up his nose and sneered, making a disgusted sound when he forced Tomas' arms up and behind his back, catching the smell of blood, sweat, and months of unwashed guerrilla war. "Ugh. Couldn't you 'ave given 'im a bath or something first? 'E smells like an aqueduct!" The dark-haired boy teased him a bit as his fished out a pair of manacles and latched them to Caledonia's wrists. Something about how he should be used to it, being Aquitainian, after all. He couldn't care less.

The tan boy's laughter cut off when the Caledonian snapped at him. Antonius just blinked at him stupidly, like the fact that Tomas was angry totally threw him. He smiled, the spitting image of the one his father now wore. "Rumex, man. Can't do that." Aristiar writhed and wriggled, turning and snapping at the boy's hands when he could reach them. The boy just laughed, pulled him off the cot, and cuddled him, cooing and ruffling his fur as if he wasn't about to be mutilated by a near-rabid deerhound.

"Horatius," Marcus cut off the old medic's frantic ranting about how the boy couldn't be moved, you're treating him too roughly, and -oh, look! The wound's reopened, you claude, do you know how hard I worked on that? "You do have castration equipment, don't you?" The man paled and mumbled something along the lines of 'well, yes, I do, but only the kind for horses-' "That's fine, just bring them out. We don't have all day." Rome waved him off and pulled down the Caledonian's trousers.

"I don't have to hold him during that, do I?" Francius looked like he was going to be sick.

Tòmas' eyes widened almost comically when he realized what was about to happen and he was torn between kicking at the Roman and trying to pull is knees up to his chest as he started to cry, broken sobs and apologies and pleas to Toutatis pouring from his mouth as he tried to get free from his bindings, deciding to protect his vital regions as best he could instead of kicking at Marcus. Why were the doing this!

"Now, come on, boy," Rome chided, grabbing Tòmas' knees and pushing them down, forcing them apart. "It's just gonna hurt more, the more you struggle. Calm down. Relax. It'll just be a pinch, I swear." Rome grinned, locking eyes with the boy. "/Trust/ me." Francius turned his head away as he teased the boy. The medic rushed about, placing one pan under Tòmas to catch the blood, another filled with water nearby for the clean up, as if he were about to give birth. He set two devices on the stool, one the looked like a pair of pliers, the other had a circular hole and blade, though both were far too large for a boy of his size.

Caledonia sobbed, trying to pull his knees back towards himself, looking at Rome with tearful, pleading eyes full of fear "I-I'm sorry! /please/ don't do this! I-I'll do whatever you want!" begging Toutatis didn't seem to be working, so he was left with no choise but to bargain with the large, muscular man before him.

"Veeee~?" Marcus hummed, amusement lighting his eyes. "I thought this was what you wanted, since you turned down joining the legion. You'd make a great eunuch, you know. You're so young, after all! Barely even a man, and you'd get to meet all my best women, like the Egyptian ones and the Greek ones, but no touch-y! Of course," Rome chuckled, "you wouldn't even want to, would you? No, not balls-y enough, are you? Certainly not for the military, pretty boy."

"I-I" am not a pretty boy! "I'll join your military!" Tòmas hiccuped a little, trying to regain his composure with little luck "O-or I can work in your house! J-just don't do this! /Please/! I don't want to be a eunuch!"

Marcus stepped back a little and rubbed his chin thoughtfully, appraising him, and hummed again in a disbelieving tone. "You'll have to have guts. You'll have to be tough. Tough as nails, I think. And, if you get caught by Persia you'll have to endure /much/ worse than being a eunuch. At least as a eunuch, you'd always have a nice warm bed, good food, good company, a roof over your head, a nice, easy life. Sounds nice, doesn't it~?"

"Marcus, enough," Germania barked by the entrance. Rome didn't have to look to know the death glare being drilled in his ear.

"Besides, I don't think we need such a scrawny crybaby in our legion in the first place. They'd eat you alive, you know?" He knew he was probably going a little too far with this, but he needed the little red headed barbarian to believe him. He was everything he'd said earlier about him and more, strong, resourceful, just like Germania was. Just a little unpolished. Just a little too wild, too headstrong. He needed to believe in Rome's might, in Rome's utter and total command. He needed to be broken, just a little. And this wouldn't be the end of it.

Tòmas thought he was going to be sick to his stomach. This was just to much for him to handle in one day. He had lost his freedom, almost lost his balls, and had compromised his pride. He was utterly disgusted with himself, almost as much as he was with the Roman. "I hate you" he mumbled, pulling his knees close to his body again.

"Now, now, don't be like that. That's undisciplined." Rome waved away the medic, gratefully bowed, took his tools, his pans, and left. "When addressing a superior officer, you always say, 'sir, yes, sir!' Otherwise you could get a whipping. Now, hurry up. We must address our new troops." He gathered his armor, the leggings, the gloves, the chest-plate, slipping on expertly as he made his way out of the tent.

Francius lowered Tòmas to the cot and undid his manacles while Antonius released the dog, cuts and bruises showing up where the armor hadn't covered skin. "You should, ah... get dressed." Francius lingered for a moment, looking as if he wanted to say something else, but shook his head and followed his fathers out, Antonius right behind him.

Tòmas rubbed his wrists for a moment after they were gone before getting up and putting his trousers back on. He wondered if he might be able to slip away from the camp, but shook his head, discarding the thought as he hugged Aristair.

Aristiar whined, nudging Caledonia with his nose and licking at him. The red head gave the dog a little smile and butted heads with him "Sorry about that, Aristair, you alright?" The deer hound barked and let it die down to a whine before getting down from the cot. Giving the dog a little pat on the head, he swallowed the lump in his throat that he knew was his pride rearing its head again, and headed outside.

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><p>XDD Aren't you all glad that Tòmi's balls are safe~? All he had to do was swallow his pride to save his vital regions!<p> 


	3. Bath time!

TheDawnCatcher is my lovely Roma ^^

This is an Aristair-centric chapter, revolving mostly around the scruffy puppy who will grow up to be a huge and scruffier dog (though it gets a tad bit citrus-y there at the end between Roma and Caledonia)

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, but Caledonia (the younger version of my OC Scotland) and Aristair are mine.

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><p>Aristair couldn't have been happier. He was covered in mud, his legs and underbelly practically caked with the substance that stuck to his fur even on his ears and neck and back. Now this, perhaps, might not have been so bad. Had the dog not found a dead rabbit to roll around in. It was so/ much bigger than the ones at home! He just /had/ to show Tòmi!

And thats what he was doing. He was walking through the building, leaving muddy paw prints in his wake, with a dead rabbit in his jaws as he tried to find Tòmas, who had probably been made to go with that scratchy faced man. Not like he could smell either of them at the moment, though they could probably smell him coming.

Servants recoiled from the stench, retreating from Aristair's path as quickly as they dared, returning with water-baskets and washcloths as he passed. One brave woman thought to run ahead to the courtyard where the honored guest and a few his companions were last seen. The it had been impossible to see the courtyard further than the portico, sheets of rain distorting the image beyond description, but now it had abated to a drizzling mist drifting over the pave stones.

The servant hurried along the inner edges of the portico, checking the halls and nearest rooms attached to it - they couldn't be far- finally catching them half-way down a hall on the opposite side of the courtyard. "/Erus!/" Rome pause and glanced at her, curiously. "Th- the dog! Mud tracks a-and a /dead rabbit/, sire!"

Tòmas, who had been made to accompany Marcus because he didn't want him making any trouble, blinked a few times "Was it dead before he found it?" he questioned, his eyebrows furrowing a bit. He didn't want Aristair that had been long dead, it might make him sick, and his breath would be rancid for /weeks/!

Aristair simply continued down the hall, slipping inside a room. Maybe Tòmas was here? No such luck. Though he only discovered this after hopping ontop of the bed, the rear end of the rabbit and his muddy paws leaving evidence of his tracks as he left once more.

"I-I don't know sir, but the smell..." The woman blanched and covered her mouth, and Rome was instantly by her side.

"Don't worry, femina, it'll be alright," he crooned, delicately petting her hand, "We'll find that big, bad wolf and get him cleaned up, so don't you worry."

Caledonia was not amused with Rome's behavior. "Perverted old man" he muttered before running off to go find his dog "Aristair! Don't eat the rabbit!" It was only a matter of a few moments before the red head was running back past, followed by an all to happy Aristair "DON'T TOUCH ME! THEY BATHE IN PUBLIC!" He had just had a bath, damn it, he didn't want another one!

"Ah..." Rome watched him and the filthy mongrel go past, mud spots flying all over the masonry, before turning to the "Donna," making an elegant bow, kissing her hand, and taking off after them. "Oh, it's not /that/ bad, Tòmas! You smelled like your dog anyway!" So what if Aquitaine had this little touchy-feel-y habit in the baths? It's a healthy part of growing up! "Take a left, boy, your LEFT!"

"I only smelled that way because of /you/!" He went to turn left, the only problem being that to do so, he had to slow down. Before he could make the corner, Aristair had slammed into him and the two were tumbling across the floor and Tòmas had slammed into the wall, pinned by Aristair and now just as filthy as the dog was, complete with dead-rabbit stench thanks to the fact that the dog was giving him slobbery kisses all over his face. He would have yelled at Rome, but he didn't want the dogs tongue in his mouth. So he just sat there and glared.

Rome jogged up to him, shaking his head sadly, and started stripping. "I did say 'left', didn't I? Not straight into the wall. And now look where it's gotten you! All muddy, and slobbery, and yuck-" He kicked off the last boot and looked up. "Oh, don't look at me like that. Those frown lines'll freeze on your face in a few centuries, you know? I do." He sighed and rubbed his hands together, steeling himself, "Alrighty, then-" bent down and hoisted the Deerhound in his arms. His nose scrunched up and grit his teeth - Aristair was heavier than he looked! - but managed a grin. "Come along, boy! Time's a wastin'!"

Aristair whined and squirmed, trying to push himself out of Rome's grip with little luck.

Caledonia simply huffed and stood up "I had to slow down or I would have fallen anyway" he grumbled, kicking off his shoes and looking for a clean spot on his clothes to wipe his face off with.

"Well, just try not to leave anything for the maids, kay~?" -Not mentioning the random pile of clothes left by a certain someone- "and /try/ not to run into anything else."

Rome took off at a good trot, making sure not to drop the dog while trying to get back to the bathes as soon as possible, though he wasn't sure he'd make it, as difficult as Aristair was being. Damn slippery beast. Back around the courtyard and two halls later, they stepped into a tall, wide room with three pool areas on different tiers, empty now that most of the soldiers had retired to their sleeping quarters or the brothels. Marcus wasted no time in walking up to the lowest bath -"Allie-oop!"- and tossing Aristair into the steaming waters.

Tòmas grumbled something about being more mature than the man taking care of him and grabbed Rome's clothes and both their shoes before hurrying after, getting there just in time to see Aristair be plopped into the water and instantly try to climb out. Dropping the bundle in his arms, he shed his own clothes and walked over, slipping into the water and pulling Aristair away from the edge. The pup was no longer happy with either of them, and had made up his mind that he was going to be sleeping alone.

Rome turned in time to see Tòmas run in with his clothes in hand, gaping. "Aw- Man! Why'd you do that? Now they're all covered in gunk, and-" he held his toga up to smell it and tossed it away, "-gleck!" Oh well, nothing to be done about it now. The burly man shook his head and went over to grab some soap. Yeah, this place had it all, right? Sexy servant girls, old wine, good bathes, and soap sent from heaven. Amazing, this far from home.

Tòmas had his legs wrapped around the dog to hold him still, and was working on getting what he could from Aristair's fur, briars and little twigs sticking in the mud and the dark colored fur, "It will wash out" he hummed, giving up his efforts in favor of simply holding the dog still.

Rome jumped into the fray, deadly weapon in hand, and set to work in scrubbing the muck, caked bits floating off every which-a-way. Servants looked on in horror as they delicately gathered the honored guests' clothes, mortified at the clean-up job they would have to do before the soldiers' sunrise bath. It didn't look like they would be getting much sleep tonight.

Aristair whined, kicking his hind feet and trying to get free, which inadvertently was propelling Tòmas backwards. "Aristair! Hold still, damn it! You can go when you're all clean!" Tòmas protested, holding the none-too-happy dog a little tighter.

Eventually, it got to the point where Marcus couldn't see any mud or fur for the suds. "Well, there's one way to fix that." Rome placed the soap on the ledge and both hands on the hound's back- "Deep breath, now!" -and dunked the both of them under the surface, holding them there a moment before letting them come back up.

Tòmas sputtered a little when he came back up before glaring at Rome through his hair "There was no need for that!" he huffed, not willing to fix his hair lest Aristair escape. "Is he clean?" He hoped the answer was yes, he didn't know how much longer he could hold the dog before he got bit.

"Of course there was," Rome huffed in reply. "Have you ever known me to do something otherwise?"

Marcus made a quick inspection, picking off little leftover bits and pieces of filth, making sure that the legs and stomach under the water were all nice and shiny before giving the all clear. "All good! But- ah... Where's the rabbit?"

"He dropped it when he saw me" Tòmas replied, letting Aristair go before going under the water to make fixing his hair easier. It only occurred to him that now /they/ needed a bath after he realized that his hair had gathered some of the debris that they picked from Aristair's fur.

"Oh, that's fine, then." The servants could just take care of that, then. Though now... Rome glanced around at the now murky water and stuck out his tongue. This was a problem, but hey! He was the mighty and powerful Rome! He could figure out... something. Perfect. Rome reached under the water where Tòmas was fixing his hair and grabbed him under his arms, then lifted him up and tossed him into one of the higher baths, excess water falling over the sides.

"Must you man handle me?" Tòmas demanded, scowling a bit at Rome. Honestly, the man never /voiced/ what he wanted! "You're impossible!" he frowned a bit before going under again to work on fixing his hair and brood to himself.

Rome just laughed, since talking never seemed to get him anywhere, and clambered up into the other pool, leaning down and grabbing the soap from a lower ledge as well. The mud that had gotten on his chest and arms from carrying the dog came off easily, but he made sure to scrub a few extra times, just in case.

Marcus glanced over at the spot where Tòmas sat underwater, clearly bent on drowning himself to death. Now Rome couldn't have that, now could he? "What are you, an Appias?" He reached under and grabbed one of the boy's wrists, pulling it up and scrubbing at his underarm.

Tòmas raised out of the water and frowned, breathing deeply through his nose "I can wash myself!" he protested "I'm /not/ a child." he considered pulling his arm free, but knew it would do no good, so he simply held still while he was washed, a sour expression on his face.

"Nah, 'course, you're not. You just happen to /look/ fourteen." Which was totally, true, by the way, but this was Rome talking, so logic didn't count. Rome spun him around so Tòmas faced the other way and switched arms

"And you're not old as dirt, you just /happen/ to look it." Caledonia snorted, sticking his tongue out at the man in response. The really messed up thing was, he thought that there might be a chance he was the older of them. Not by much, but still. The thought made the boy's shoulders slump and his head hang..

"Hey! I take offense to that!" Rome whined, still holding that one arm up while he scrubbed the boy's chest. "The ladies happen to like the 'Matured Ruler' look."

"Is that /all/ you ever think about" Tòmas questioned, frowning a bit at the Roman.

Rome pouted, "Maaaaaaa~ybe," and looked away like he did when he was a child and Mama Greece caught him picking on her colonies.

"Pervert!" Tòmas accused "You're a pervert, no wonder Aquitaine acts the way he does! Its deplorable!" he huffed, trying to pull his arm free from Rome.

"So what if I let him in the harem once, or twice, or... okay, maybe a few times. That's nothing to get upset about." Rome tightened his grip on Tòmas' wrist. Obviously, this kid hadn't gotten any in all the years he's been a nation. Kinda cute, really. And all the more fun to play with. "Uh~oh, looks like we missed a spot here~." Rome reached around from behind him with the soap and washed his inner thighs, taking great care not to avoid the little manhood in the middle, caressing the soft skin with his thumb on passing.

Tòmas' cheeks flared a bright red in color and he squirmed as his blood rushed south "H-hey!" it wasn't much of a protest, but he thought that it would at least get his point across, right? No, probably not...

Rome chuckled, pulling the boy's small body against his chest. "Don't worry. It's your first time, so I'll be gentle," he murmured against his ear, nipping the shell.

Tòmas told himself that was /not/ a shiver that went down his spine, and that those were not goose bumps that were appearing on his upper arms despite the heat of the water as he turned his face away from Rome in an attempt to hide his blush, though his cheek was no doubt hot on the man's chest.

Aw...! Wasn't the wikle red-head just adowable! Rome nuzzled his exposed neck, fondling his little prize without resistance. Now, just a little foreplay, a little to the right, and- Ohmygods/PAIN!/ Marcus collapsed with a splash, instantly releasing his prey. Germania stood behind him, stony-faced as ever, with a fist where Rome's head used to be and a twitching brow. He reached in and pulled Rome up by his curly brown hair, bringing him up to eye level. "Marcus... We're not Catholic yet..."

"What?" The other coughed and spluttered, protesting as the taller blonde dragged his bare body over the stones. "Demon- ow! Beast! At least pick me up, you brute!"

His face nearly as red as his hair, Tòmas sunk down in the water, completely embarrassed and covering up his 'vital regions' as he stared after them.

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><p>XD Aww, he's so confused. He's not sure if he wants to tell him to come back or to run away... The walk to his room shall be awkward either way.<p> 


	4. When In Rome Pt1

Again, I give my many thanks to TheDawnCatcher for being my lovely Roma and assorted other characters ^-^

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, but Caledonia (the younger version of my OC Scotland) is mine.

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><p>Winter in the Alps wasn't nearly as harsh as a Caledonian winter, thank the gods, but it was still colder than the new recruits would have liked it to be. At least for the ones who had come from the Mediterranean. These men, with their sun tanned skin, easy-going attitude, and seafaring ways weren't used to the thin air in the mountains and were constantly sick for months until their bodies adjusted. These were the most easily broken.<p>

The newer brand of recruits that came from the African and Eastern lands were, perhaps, more disturbed by the foliage. Most did not live by a major river like the Nile or the Tigris and Euphrates, but had lived as nomads, traversing the endless desert sands with their clans and herds. Not being able to see the horizon line for the trees, or looking down a cliff several hundred or thousand feet set their nerves on edge. Time away from their families made them homesick and rebellious. They were quiet when tamed.

For those farther north, hailing from Gaul and Aquitaine, the cold and the terrain were nothing. They were the most barbaric, in the beginning, the most ferocious, and the hardest to get into line, but little by little as the roads snaked out of Rome into the wild lands they became more civilized. More accepting of their role in the Great Roman Empire. They never needed to be told twice.

As for the recruits from the newly conquered islands even farther north of Aquitaine, the commanders were going to receive a challenge they haven't encountered in almost two hundred years...

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><p>When the wake up call arrived before dawn, and the people were forced from the tents, Caledonia was sitting outside the tent on one of the thin blankets they had been issued, wearing only the cloth he had been issued to cover up his vital regions and his hair, which he had refused to let them cut was pulled into a tight ponytail and tied up with a piece of leather. He was testing out the strange knife he had been given -damned weird it was, it folded in half so the blade was against the handle!- on an old tree limb, simply sitting there and carving away at the dead wood.<p>

The camp commander and his assistants(?) went around from tent to tent, shouting orders, making wild gestures, and rustling recruits out of bed, some with a sharp smack, while others got tossed straight out the front flaps. The commander smirked after one such episode, kicking the offender's rear and cursing his mother with aplomb, before striding into the next tent.

There was the usual banter of the "your mother was a hamster and your father smelled of elderberries" sort, a little scuffle, some protests, and a "you really shouldn't do that", before all hell broke loose. Metal clashed, men shouted, the tent waved comically from side to side before collapsing on the lot of them, muffling the battle. Two little shapes in the mound of canvas squiggled through the mess and popped out on the other side, a Mediterranean boy and an Aquitainian, fleeing the scene. Other maggots ogled at the scene as laughter filled the air, one boy shouting "Let's get 'out of 'ere before zey kill us!"

Caledonia looked over and frowned a bit before standing up, folding his knife, bundling it and his stick inside of the thin blanket, and tossing it in the tent, waking Aristair -what? You didn't think he was going to leave him behind with Roma-bastard, did you?- who yawned before practically bouncing to his feet and stepped on /everyone/ in going to join his master outside.

Once the dog was with his boy, the two headed over to the tent in chaos and simply stood and stared at them. He had been given the impression that these people were all business... Well. Shows what he knows about what happens in his own training camps, doesn't it?

The Instructor and his men fumbled around a couple seconds more before on blob surged out of the canvas sea and tossed the tent off in a tidal wave, thundering, "/WHERE IS HE? I'll skin his hide, I will!/" The Drill Sargent looked around wildly before spotting Caledonia, "You! Maggot!" and grabbing him by the hair. "Which way did they go, maggot? Don't even /try/ saying ya didn't see 'em!"

Aristair snarled at the Instructor, Tòmas hissing as he squirmed a bit, elbowing the Roman hard and making a rather vague comment about hoping the evil eye is there when he wakes up before "I wasn't paying attention! Maybe you shouldn't have let them get away!" he growled a bit, holding Aristair by the collar so he wouldn't bite the man.

The Instructor released him, stunned, and grasped his abdomen as he gasped for breath. "Why, you...!" He growled, unsheathing his sword. There was a soft twang and a rock smacked into the back of his head, -"Ole!"- and the Drill Sargent swung around to glare at laughing shadows. "Over here, oraputide! /I'll/ give ya something to suck on!" And the next stone nearly knocked his teeth out.

Tòmas covered his mouth to stop a snort of laughter, though it did little to muffle it when it did happen, "I would tell you to kiss my ass, but it would seem you're busy~"

"That's IT!" The Sargent nursed his wounded jaw, snarling through a split lip, "Seize them! Morning flogging, fifteen lashes for insubordination!"

His men went into action, two going to take Tòmas from behind, the other three into the thicket from where the stones had been slung.

Almost instantly, one of the two men had a pair of jaws biting down harshly on the back of his leg, a snarl coming from the dark grey canine that was simply protecting its master. Tòmas squirmed about frantically, trying to pull himself free while also doing as much damage as he could.

The man screamed in a very "manly" way and tried to punch and kick the canine off his calve, while the other tumbled with Tòmas, trying to lock his arms or pin him to the ground.

Of the three that ran to the bushes, one was laid out flat with a broken nose. The other two had thoroughly confiscated Antonius' slingshot before he got one where it hurts. The last man standing slammed him against a tree and twisted Iberia's arm behind his back. "Ow, ow, ow, ow, man! Easy with the goods, hombre, that's my sword arm!" The lieutenant jerked it up violently, and the boy made a show of it, gasping in pain, "okay, okay, man, I'm sorry!" pleading, "Let go, will ya?", and suppressing a smirk. The other two recovered enough to trot him back out to the tent.

Always quick on his feet, Aristair was actually turned it a game (for him anyway), jumping back to avoid the blows before darting forward to nip at the man's legs, before bouncing backwards again, his tail wagging.

Tòmas was having none of this, and kneed the man in the groin the first chance he got, following it with a punch towards the man's face, not particularly caring where it landed. It would hurt one way or another.

Once returned to the Drill Sargent, the previously groin-ed soldier from Antonius' end joined in on trying to catch the dog, leaping epic-ly and soaring through the air only to land flat on his face. But! He had managed to grab the tail!

The Sargent, on the other hand, had used his soldiers' distraction to get in behind Tòmas, and (... I've no idea how to describe this, but remember the episode where France tries to make England marry him and ends up dragging him off-screen? That's what Sarge is trying to do. ^-^;)

Antonius stood there quite happily, watching the whole scene with a big smile over his face. He noticed the one soldier glance over and turned it into a simpering grimace of pain. The soldier looked away and he was smiling again, cheering Aristair on in his head.

Yelping and snarling, Aristair rounded on him and bit the man's hand to free his tail, which he tucked between his legs to avoid further abuse to the appendage, before darting between the other man's legs, giving his knee a good bite as he passed on his way to assist Tòmas, who was trying to get at least one arm free and get to his feet at the same time.

Upon hearing the commotion, more of the Drill Sergent's patsies charged onto the field and Aristair was stopped before he could get to the man holding Tòmas, one of the men grabbing the dog around the waist and another grabbing his muzzle, which made the red headed boy start spitting curses at them both, thrashing around to no avail.

"Well," The Sargent huffed, flipping his hair out of his eyes and smirking widely, "Looks like we're having a show today, boys." The newly arrived chattered their approval, the few who were involved nursed their wounds, throwing the two boys nasty looks. The Sarge made a short inspection, taking a mental damage note, when he noticed a soldier stemming blood from his nose. "Five extra for the nose, Vargas, and another five for my teeth."

Antonius laughed, "You drive a hard bargain, Mr- Ow!" someone smacked him upside the head.

The soldiers made a procession down to the posts, the two prisoners stumbling along at the head, followed by a growing crowd of recruits. One head of blond slinked out of the shadows, shining brightly before merging with the mass of men and boys, making its way to the front. Five posts stood in a line of morning sun, dark, dry splotches staining the grass at their feet.

Tòmas looked up at the posts, then back behind him, his eyes narrowing a bit when he saw that Aristair had been put back on one of those horrible dumbass leashes, and growled a bit, staring at the darkened grass angrily "May the devil's cat eat your bones."

"Well, now," The Drill Sargent grinned to the crowd, spreading his arms wide in welcome, "This morning I give you, my new recruits, a warning, and my old, a reminder, that disobedience and disorder has not and shall never be tolerated within our ranks. /Discipline/ is the foundation of our Empire, /strength/, the stones on which it was built, and /loyalty/, the mortar which holds it together. We /are/ the Imperial Legions. We /are/ the Empire. So /what/, I ask you, would happen should our foundation crumble?" He stepped aside and gestured toward the two boys. "Chaos and ruin. The lives of our wives and daughters, our homes left behind, /forfeit/ to those /rapscallions/ who would see us fall. But not today, boys." He turned, gravity falling into his tone. "Today, I give you /discipline/."

And they let the first lashes fall.

Tòmas grit his teeth, refusing to let any sound of pain escape each time the whip hit him. The /bastards/. Preaching like that when they killed so many. Why couldn't they have just kept to themselves?

His hands curled into fists as he remembered the half-starved, battle-weary faces of the soldiers as they readied for the retaliation. The feeling that he got in his chest when he realized that they had all given up. The look on Rome's face as the man crouched over him, looking all to happy at the fact that he was flat on his back, bleeding and unable to get up.

The silent count reached fifteen, and the man at Tòmas' post lowered his whip, backing up a step or two to admire the long red lines etched into the boy's body. His attention then turned to the side as the count kept climbing.

Seventeen... Eighteen... Nineteen. Antonius let out a gasp and bit his lip, digging his nails into his hands until they pierced the skin. Twenty... Twenty-one. Almost over... Three more, almost over. Twenty-four... Twenty-five... Twenty-six! Antonius groaned in pain, willing himself not to scream with frustration. The Sargent let the lash fall thirty-five times before he finally ordered the man to stop, leaving him breathing raggedly, knees shaking.

"Etch this lesson into your minds as I have etched it into their bodies, so that no man here repeats their mistake. Now," the Sargent clapped his hands, "For breakfast." The swarm of recruits parted for him and his soldiers, falling in line behind him when he passed. Once the crowd dissipated, Francius picked his way towards the posts.

Tòmas hit his head on the post a few times, both in frustration and as a way to ignore the pain on his back that had died to a dull, throbbing, continuous sting. Fifteen. They had left fifteen marks on him that, because they weren't inflicted by someone like him, they would probably be faint scars by tomorrow morning. Well, that didn't mean they didn't hurt now... And where was Aristair?

"Oh, dear, don't you look a mess." Francius tisked, quickly working loose the bonds. "Ever 'eard of zis little zing called 'escaping'? You could 'ave gotten away, you know," he chided Antonius, flicking his nose, "Naughty."

He chuckled weakly. "Was either this or the stocks, mate. Had to come back sometime."

When the ropes fell, Iberia tried to follow them, but Francius caught him - "No, no, no!", and leaned him up against the post for support- "Now, you just rest 'ere. Zere's a good lad," before turning to Tòmas' post. "Sit tight. I'll 'ave you out in a minute."

Tòmas stayed quiet, closing his eyes and sighing softly with each exhale "When there is an option that lets you keep your pride, fleeing is for cowards" he mumbled softly "And where's my dog? I saw him earlier..."

"Sometimes it is ze better part of valor," he replied, loosening the knot. "'E's being 'eld somewhere, but worry not," the ropes fell and he gave the redhead a smile. "If 'e is anyzing like 'is master, 'e'll be joining us soon. I trust you can walk?"

Tòmas nodded, pushing up off of the post and testing his balance as he rubbed the marks where the rope had been "Probably chewing through the leash now" he murmured fondly before rather suddenly punching Francis and turning to walking away.

Francius flew back, his head hitting Antonius' post while the other boy laughed hysterically, coughed, gripped his sides, and kept laughing. "Oh, shut it." Francius, dazed, sat up and pinched his nose, hoping it wasn't broken. "See if I 'elp /'im/ later," he muttered darkly, "should 'ave left 'im on ze bleeding post."

Antonius' laughter had faded to wheezing as he struggled to keep breathing. The blonde rolled his eyes as he stood and slipped an arm around his shoulders, careful to avoid the marks. "Oh, it is not zat bad, tu connard. Let's get you cleaned up"

Tòmas headed up to find Aristair, his back still stinging a little, though he wasn't having any where near as much trouble with it as Antonio was. Sure enough, his dog found him before he found his dog, and the fuzzy pup came bounding over, about three or four inches of leash still attached to his collar "Hey" he smiled, crouching down and kissing the dog so that he wouldn't jump up to give him 'kisses'. "Alright, lets go get some food, right~?"

Aristair barked in response and ran off towards the smell of food, the Caledonian boy right behind him.

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><p>Eventful day already, and its not even breakfast time! XDD<p> 


	5. When In Rome Pt2

Again, I give my many thanks to TheDawnCatcher for being my lovely Roma and assorted other characters ^-^

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, but Caledonia (the younger version of my OC Scotland) is mine.

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><p>The victims of that morning's little "incident" weren't given time to rest and heal up, but set straight to work with the rest of the recruits, complete with all the snubs and jibes that come from nervous children trying to be big. Of course, Antonius being Antonius, all their slander just rolled off his blood-stained back, not even touching him. He just laughed jovially, winced a little at the strain, and kept pushing through. It was only bearable thanks to the salve Francius had cooked up and plastered all over the wounds, numbing the pain and help his body knit itself back together in record time.<p>

Tòmas didn't take as well to he jibes. He would bristle with every comment, and was coming very close to simply kicking the ass of the next person that he heard make a comment about the Caledonians. It didn't even have to be to him, really. A comment to any of his red headed people would get the same reaction.

It wasn't until the 20 mile 'march' -fucking midday! Who moves their armies at MIDDAY!- that Tòmas got a chance to talk to Antonius. "How's your back?" he questioned.

"Eh," he tried to shrug, winced, and settled for a wide grin. "It's been better. And you? You got someone to look at it, right?"

"Yeah, its probably not half as bad as yours, though." Tòmas shifted the pack on his shoulders and frowned a bit.

"I'm used to it." Other than the fact that the pack was rubbing off the salve and trying real hard to reopen the skin, he was fine. "You should've seen the /first/ time we were. Nearly gave the old Sarge an aneurism, we did." He chuckled with a far off look on his face. "Good times."

Tòmas laughed a little "He gets stressed way to easily. I think someone should remove that stick from his ass." he shifted the pack again, trying to get it to rest in a way that wasn't pushing painfully against the raised, thankfully closed, welts.

"You don't want to see what comes out." He raised a bow, giving Tòmas a conspiratorial smirk. "Trust me." He glanced around, looking for a familiar gleam, and turned about-face a second, running backwards. "How you holding up there, Francius?"

Aquitaine brought his head up, glaring daggers, cheeks flushed with strain. "Ta mere suce des ours dans la foret."

"Love ya too, bud." Antonius spun back to the front, positively beaming. "Ain't he a gem?"

Tòmas laughed, giving Francis a look over his shoulder "Shining topaz" he responded, turning back to look in front of him

"Je te pisse en zig-zags au raie de cul!" Honestly, Aquitaine could swear his cheek was bruising. His beautiful skin blemished by that-! That /barbarian!/ Ugh! And Antonius! Having the /gall/ to run better and faster than him in his condition! Salaud.

Tòmas blinked, wondering breifly what the blonde had said before settling for responding with "You'd have to catch me first~" and readjusting his pack so that he could put a bit more oomph in his step.

Francius watched him for a second, cocking his head to the side before he figured out that the red-head was drawing further away from Iberia. He would have flushed with rage, if that were possible at this point. "'Ow dare you!" He gripped the straps of his pack, pulling it flat against his back and picked up the pace, huffing and puffing past Antonius. "I... Will not! ...Be d- defeated! Pouffiasse!"

Antonius, meanwhile, cheered them on.

"Don't fall!" Tòmas grinned, glancing over his shoulder breifly. He kind of wondered how it was he, not Aquitaine that was getting the girly boy comments "Yeah, /I'm/ the fat one, you just huff and puff your way on up here, and I'll just stay ahead so you can kiss my ass~!"

Francius snarled, not having enough breath to make a snazzy comment on his heritage, and kept chugging. Antonius lingered behind, shouting things like, "Yeah! Go on, kick his ass!" and "Keep going, man! That inútil idiota ain't got nothin' on ya!", and all three of them were beginning to pull ahead of the younger crowd into the ranks of the older boys. They got knocked around, as expected, but even with Aquitaine flagging they were starting to get close to the head of the pack, and the finish line was naught but three miles ahead.

Tòmas panted lightly, turning to run backwards so he could better see Francis, "Oh, man, you look exhausted" He probably did to "All red faced and panting~ Your chest hurt yet? How about your feet? Feeling heavy yet? Your thighs? Probably quivering, right?" just three more miles, three more miles before they were done, that was it!

Francius bit his cheek, probably because he hated to admit it, but Tòmas was right. Endurance running was never his thing. "I'll... Kill you... Salaud." He couldn't be bothered to look up anymore, sweat dripping from his nose and chin, leaving a foul taste in his mouth.

Antonius came up behind him, a dark gleam in his eyes, "Oh, it isn't /that/ bad, tu tonto Aquitano. !Vamos, chico!" Antonius placed his hands on his brother's pack.

"Don't you dare-!"

"Too late!" Now Antonius /really/ started, pushing Francis ahead of him, faster than what the poor boy's legs could handle.

Tòmas' eyes widened and he turned around, almost running into one of the older boys, and ran off as fast as he could, ignoring the burn in his muscles "Not gonna lose. Not... Gonna... Lose!"

And they were off! Shooting past the last few senior recruits and into the home stretch, Antonius driving Francis neck-in-neck with the Caledonian boy, picking up speed and they went down a ridge. Less than a mile to go!

Caledonia grit his teeth and readjusted his pack, pulling it flush against his back and wincing "Antonius! Stop cheating!"

"Oui! /Please/ stop!" Francius pleaded, "If you 'ave any sense in that thick skull of yours, stop!"

Antonius rolled his eyes, "Just man up already, Francius! And it's not 'cheating', Tòmi," he shot at the other boy, "It's 'assistance!'"

The end was right in front of them, with a disgruntled looking Sarge and barrels of what could be water, or wine, or both!

"Water!" Tòmas cheered, his eyes widening as he nearly tripped over himself trying to speed up because oh dear gods they had been running forever!

Francius just groaned, not even caring where they were or what was ahead, because they'd never stop running, and couldn't he just /die/ already? Antonius practically had to carry him the last few yards, which didn't do anything for his speed, so he just let Tòmas run on ahead, trotting in behind him with his dead-weight. Iberia laid the poor boy on the ground next to the barrels, where he curled up and bemoaned his fates. He would never move /again!/

The Drill Sargent look quite shocked, frankly, considering these were the two boys he had whipped just earlier this morning, and even more so since it took about ten or twenty minutes for the rest of the boys to show on the horizon.

"Non-sense... " Tomas grabbed his own cup to fill, not having to move very far at all "Your papa is a lazy perverted old goat faced man" who molests unsuspecting boys in the bath "and a drunk. This is rather obviously water"

"Have you /never/ gotten drunk off water before?" Antonius inquired, "Or air?" He filled his own cup again and drained it before taking another to Francius.

"Air? Yes. Water? No, I don't think I have" Tomas hummed, refilling his cup and looking over at where Aristair was napping, sprawled out under a tree.

At last, the other recruits began filing over the last rise, some content to walk the last half-mile where others, like Tòmas, kicked up their heels and dashed at the chance for water. The Sarge surged forward, yelling obscenities at the first three and kicking them out of the way, landing a smarting blow on the Caledonian's injured back. "Alright, sweetcakes, /line up!/ Get outta there!" He kicked back another one or two of the younger boys, making a slicing motion with his arm to show where they needed to be. "Get out your cups, maggots! No pushing, one drink per person until /everyone,/" He gave our three heroes a pointed stare, "has their share."

Tòmas grumbled a bit, moving over to sit by Aristair and nurse his water. Not their fault the others were slow! Huffing, he rubbed his back a little and stuck his tongue out at the officer.

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><p>Ta mere suce des ours dans la foret - Your mother sucks bears in the forest<br>Je te pisse en zig-zags au raie de cul - I piss in zig-zags on your ass-crack!  
>Salaud - Bastard.<br>Pouffiasse - Fatbag  
>Inútil idiota - Useless idiot<br>Tu tonto Aquitano. !Vamos, chico! - You silly Aquitanian. Let's go, man!

Hahaha~ The Insults from Francius are hilarious! XDD


	6. When In Rome Pt3

Sorry its been so long since I posted, I really could have sworn I put this up! But I'm a bit busy with school (AP European History is killing me!) and marching season is going as well... For you who have been reading but not reviewing, it doesn't help me post faster~! ;P

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><p>First day back at boot camp, and Francius really/ wished he hadn't agreed to this. Watching after their "newest charge" just wasn't worth it. Well, maybe some time off campaigning, a little wine, ocean-side sunsets, and a girl or two might be, but he was seriously starting to rethink this. At least there was the bath. Sweet, luxurious bath time. No twenty mile hike. No Sarge chasing them with a battle axe. Just down-time.

He dipped a foot in to test the waters and sighed, slipping in and dunking his head under, running his hands through it to try and get the dried salt out.

Tòmas took his hair down and walked over to the pool not far from Francis, plopping down into the water with a contented sigh, stretching out and closing his eyes. He was probably the only one that didn't have a problem with the fact that Aristair hopped right in after him, snapping at the water for a few drinks as he paddled around. Then again, this was probably because there wasn't really much of a way for the dog to get too horribly dirty.

A dark shadow loomed over Francius, and as soon as he brought his head up for air Antonius pushed it back under, little flailing and smacking his arms to get free. Getting his legs under him, the blonde shot himself up and smacked his head into Antonius' chin, sending the other reeling across the grass. "That's what you get, connard!" He gasped, shaking wet locks out of his eyes.

Tòmas looked over and snorted in laughter, swimming over lazily and leaving Aristair to romp and splash around. "Don't drown him, Iberia, we've no where to hide the body~" his tone was teasing in the last part, a grin on his face.

Francius splashed water in his face, sticking out his tongue. "You two idiots couldn't find the backside of a farm house, but I know plenty of places to stick /your/ corpse."

"Aw, but it's so much fun~." Francius turned just in time to be toppled by Antonious as he jumped on top of him, the two struggling to pin the other before Antonius got him in a headlock. "Got a live one!" he laughed, the blonde tugging at the offending arm and twisting the older boy's ear. "So, should we roast him? Boil him?

"Release me, and your death shall be swift."

"I'm thinking stew" Tòmas grinned, laughing and going over to poke at Francius' thighs in the clear water "Seems like he'd be a little stringy though"

Francius kicked him, trying to get where it hurt, but that was difficult when the upper half of his body was being held hostage. "Next time I make you a salve, it will be filled with poison ivy!"

Laughing at the kick that landed on his thigh, Tòmas backed up "Aww, nothing to be ashamed of, its better than being fatty, right~?"

"Nique ta mère." Francius elbowed Antoius hard enough to loosen his grip and quickly swam off, hiding behind Aristair, peeking over the dog's back. "I have a meat-shield, and I'm not afraid to use it."

Aristair blinked, looking at the boy before swimming off. People around him in the water meant bath time.

Tòmas laughed "Better luck next time~"

"Some man's best friend you are." He scowled. He looked over to find Antonius making faces at him and tossed one back with some choice gestures before swimming back over. At least the Iberian wasn't going to torture him any further.

"Yep, he is. He's my best friend and familiar" Tòmas said with a proud nod.

"Familiar?" Antonius leaned back against the rocks, raising a brow curiously.

Tòmas frowned a bit, trying to think of a way to explain it "Well, he's more than just a pet... And we've got this kind of link, like we can talk to one another" he realized he probably sounded crazy...

The Iberian chuckled. "Well, I guess anything's possible, with guys like us."

"So, what does he say?" Francis asked, resting his head on the other's shoulder, as if Antonius /hadn't/ been trying to cook him earlier.

"He's kind of hyper, but he's pretty quiet most of the time... Tends to go on about some of the most senseless things, when he does talk, though" Tòmas looked up a little, laughing a bit and leaning back.

"Whaaa~aat?"

"Lots of things, like, butterflies, and he once had me try to explain color to him." Tòmas said, looking over at them with a little smile, though he was really entirely serious.

"And did he get it?" Antonius asked, without a trace of laughter

"Kind of, but he still has problems with blues and greens" Tòmas nodded.

"Huh." Francius looked over at the hound, splashing around in a space away from the crowd, having grand old time, trying to imagine what it would look like if the water were green and the grass blue. ...Yup. Pretty weird.

"Where'd you find him? Or did you just get him as a pup, or...?"

"I can't really remember not having him, not that I really own him..." Tòmas shrugged a bit.

Francius snorted. "Does he own you, then?"

"No, I'm his boy and he's my dog, but he's his own person, he's got wants and thoughts and doesn't need to be told what to do." Tòmas hummed, trying to think of a way to explain it better.

"Not even when he runs around with a muddy dead rabbit in the house?" Scullery maids make wonderful little birdies.

"Well, he is a dog." Tòmas shrugged "And dogs will be dogs."

"Excuses, excuses." Aquitaine mumbled, lacing his arms around Antonius' neck. He'd had a long day, and now that people weren't trying to drown him or anything, the water was quite soothing.

Antonius' didn't look like he even noticed, looking between them curiously. "Dead rabbit?"

"When we stopped at his place" he nodded at the blonde "Aristair found a dead rabbit while he was playing in the rain, and he ran to come show me, cause it was like, twice the size of the ones at home, and" his cheeks started to heat up a little "We gave him a bath after we caught him..."

"Made a mess of my room, too." Francius huffed. ... Oh, it /was/ getting dark, and exhaustion might be playing tricks on him, but if he wasn't mistaken, "Are you /blushing?/"

"N-no! Why would I be blushing!"

"You are, aren't you!" Francis pushed off of Iberia and caught Tomas, pinching his cheeks, pulling them every which-a-way with this huge grin. "Papa did something, didn't he? Don't worry, it 'appens to ze best of us. Well- Not me or 'im, zat would be weird, but everyone else, yeah."

Tòmas' cheeks heated up further and he tried to push Francius away "H-he did not! Stop touching me!" he tried once more to push the blonde away "Get /off/!"

"That just proves it!" He giggled, releasing the red-faced boy's flaming cheeks in favor of latching his arms around his neck. "Do you know 'ow cute zat is? Kinda gross, but cute!"

"You're horrrible!" Tòmas protested, trying to back away from him.

"No," he briefly pressed his lips against his cheek and leaned back, "I'm Aquitaine." He let go and swam away quickly, pulling himself out at the water's edge, "Come on, Antoni~. That Sarge'll beat us if we stay in any longer~!"

Antonius watched the two of them helplessly and had no choice but to climb out after the blonde, mouthing a 'sorry' as they went.

Oh. My. God. What the hell was wrong with that family? Tòmas hung his head and put his hands in his lap, sighing heavily. He should be getting out...

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><p>Nique ta mère - Fuck your mother<p>

Oh! And for those of you who are wondering 'Oh, wow, where's Tòmi's accent?' well, the time period simply doesn't allow for it, as the modern Scots accent, well, it was a side effect of Scots Gaelic... But Gaelic period doesn't come to Scotland for another, oh, about 400 years... So... Sorry you guys! No accent here! ^_^


	7. Anna Perenna?

Mm, I figure I'll go ahead and get this one posted, though it will likely be a good while before I get another one up, school and all for both myself and TheDawnCatcher... Well, anyway, these next ones are going to be a touch crazy, as it involves a teenage!Tòmas and fermented fruits.

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><p>Tòmas had almost just stopped and stared when Francius passed him, Aristair taking off after the blonde, the canine nearly tripping over himself a few times as he did. There was just so much wrong with that! He didn't realize that he <em>had<em>stopped until they seemed to be running faster. "Hey!" Starting to run again, Tòmas scowled, trying to catch up.

Aristair was determined to beat Francius, though he wasn't fast as he would be, still having his awkward puppy-like build, still taller than he was long, and all legs.

"Come on, scrawny bones!" Francius called out behind him, "I've seen _frogs_ with longer legs than yours!" He was talking to the dog, of course, not the scraggly dumb-struck red-head away in the back. About a month of boot camp and the ever advancing reach of Rome found Aquitaine stronger than ever. More roads and aqueducts meant better circulation, faster travel, and he was _finally_ up to Iberia's height! Sweet victory.

Aristair barked at Francius, changing from a trot to a bound, which quickly closed the distance between them. In only a matter of a few moments, Aristair was running even with the blonde, his head down and tongue lolling out of his mouth.

Antonius kept even with Tòmas, watching them go with wonder. He nudged the other boy, saying, "You know, it seems like just yesterday when we-"

"_Shut it!_" Just thinking about it made his legs burn, and right now, he had to focus on his latest and greatest rival. THE DOG.

Tòmas sighed "Yeah, its just not right..." he commented, shaking his head.

Aristair edged a bit to the side, glancing up at Francis for a moment before taking a sharp turn so that he was running right in front of the blonde.

And he tumbled right over him, but not without taking the blasted canine with him. Francius curled around Aristair as he fell and sent them both spiraling for a few feet, landing with the blonde flat on his back and the dog on his chest. "Tu es fou!" He fumed.

"How'de do," Antonius saluted as he and Tòmas trotted past.

Aristair gave Francius a lick on the cheek before bounding forward, leaving the blonde where he lie as he caught up with Tòmas and Antonius.

"You and your 'sorries'." He mumbled, wiping off his cheek and pushing himself up and taking off after them.

Tòmas elbowed Antonius "Lets go, we've gotta beat him!" he said, readjusting his pack and speeding up, Aristair moving to keep up with him.

"What?" Antonius suddenly found himself off-balance, swinging his arms to try and keep himself upright, and was only saved by Francius grabbing his arm.

"What are you doing, flopping around 'ere?" Francius pulled him forward as they ran.

"Uh, interpretive dance?" He offered hopefully.

"You have _no balance_!" Tòmas called behind him.

"Says ze red-faced wonder!" Francius had taken to teasing the Caledonian, just 'cause it was so easy, not to mention he was more fun than the numb-skull behind him. That guy had the sexuality of a gnat.

"Shut _up_!" No! His voice did _not_ crack! "You're a fucking _idiot_!" Tòmas huffed, trying to figure out how much further there was to the finish line.

Antonius laughed heartily, "You guys get along so well! I'm kinda jealous."

Francius couldn't keep from chuckling. "Pick up the pace, you fish out of water, and pull your own weight!" He chided, dropping the brunette's wrist. They charged up the path, coming up behind the lead pair and parted on either side. Another few meters would see the winner of this day's race.

Almost as if he had planned it, Aristair bounded forward wit a burst of sudden speed, trying to skid to a stop after he crossed the finish line.

"Aristair!" Tòmas all but whined, feeling a bit defeated.

Francius groaned, muttering dark curses in his strange dialect while Antonius trotted up to the gangly pup and ruffled his fur, cooing happily.

Someone whistled, making both boys pop their heads up, "Looks like he wasn't kidding. Mercury would be jealous."

Aristair, panting noisily and sitting down, jerked his head towards the sound of the whistle, his ears perking up.

Tòmas plopped down beside the dog and shrugged off his pack following their gazes. And _boy_ could his cheeks turn _red_.

"Papa!"

Rome's smile widened. "Hey, boys! Miss me?" Antonius ran forward eagerly, asking about his travels, and, oh, he hadn't gone far? Just stopped off with Luther somewhere? Well, that was fine. he could tell Papa _all about_their time at camp, terrorizing the Drill Sargent, and all the little capers in between. Rome listened attentively, putting in comments here and their, and heaping on the praise. Francius, though, found his gaze wandering over to the red-faced wonder, and bit his cheek.

Looked like he had some work to do.

Tòmas felt eyes on him and looked over at Francius "What?" he questioned, frowning a bit and trying to fight his blush back.

Aristair lay down and rest his head on his boy's lap, panting softly.

He smirked and turned his gaze back to Rome, giving his two cents on The Lake Incident.

Huffing softly, Tòmas crossed his arms, perfectly content on being ignored for the time being. He didn't want any of their attention any-damned-way

By the time that everything had been said, Tòmas was sleeping softly, reclined on his pack with Aristair sprawled over his chest, not seeming bothered in the slightest by the doggy breath in his face.

"Wow~," Rome finally said, having heard most everything, "You guys've been busy, eh, Sarge?" The bristly old man looked like he had quite a lot to say on the matter, but wasn't /about/ to get into it with a superior officer. That was always one of the perks of being with their father; Diplomatic Immunity. "You don't mind if I just borrow them for a while, do ya?"

The Sargent grumbled an assent and something about getting them back by supper before shepherding all the layabouts who'd stumbled in during their conversation towards the practice arena.

Now that that was done, Rome finally seemed to notice the Caledonian he'd come to see, all sprawled out and passed out and smirked, stroking his beard. "Aw, poor guy. Looks like someone ha-"

"Wait!" Francius stepped out in front of him, hands up, "Papa, let /me/ handle this."

The old Empire frowned and cocked his head to the side. "You sure? 'Cause there's this carriage, a-"

"-And I've got this, so go on."

Rome still looked doubtful, like he was trying to piece something together. "If you're sure..." The blonde nodded 'yes, yes' and shooed the man off, Antonius patting his shoulder before following after.

Now that the rabble was out of the way... Francius sauntered on over to the pair, examining all the possibilities with a keen eye. If he could just move the dog without waking the red-head... He knelt, scratching Aristair's ears. "'Ey can you do me a favor, boy?"

Aristair yawned and blinked at Francius, questioning in his eyes as he looked up at the blonde

"Good boy, good boy. Now, if you'll just step off this way," He whispered, motioning to the side, "and watch your step, I'll give you /all/ the meaty bits from my dinner tonight. Sound good?"

Aristair yawned again and got up, stretching before going off to find the others... Tòmas was getting woke up, so he'd be there soon.

Francius mimed a thank you,looked back down at his play-thing and carefully crawled on top of him, settling himself comfortably. He brushed a couple locks of Tòmas' hair out of his face, tracing a line down his face and behind his ear, cupping his cheek. Leaning close, murmuring against tempting lips, "Come on, sleepy-'ead, we're going to get left behind. Wake up, Tòmas!"

Tòmas whined a bit and blinked his eyes open, looking up at Francius for a moment before realizing how they were positioned. his cheeks heating up once it clicked. "H-hey! I'm up, y-you can get off!" he didn't move, neither squirming or trying to push the smaller boy off

Francius chuckled, running his other hand down his side. "Why is it that you always freeze up like zis? It couldn't be that you actually like zis, hm?" He rubbed his thumb over pale lips, smirking, a predatory gleam in his eye. "I could kiss you, you know."

His blush darkening, Tòmas shook his head, leaving it facing towards the right to prevent Francius from touching his lips again, "No" he mumbled, not wanting to admit that he didn't really know how to react to this.

"'Ave it your way." Francius kissed the place where the neck and jaw meet, letting teeth graze skin, before picking himself up and heading off in the direction Antoni and Papa had taken. "We've left zem waiting long enough, I suppose."

Sitting up, Tòmas blushed a bit more and got up, rubbing the spot where Francius' had kissed him before getting up and following behind the blonde.

It took a bit of picking their way around and down the mountainside, which wasn't that difficult anymore, given their light daily jog, but Francis eventually managed to find the little dirt road where Papa and Antonius sat by the carriage, laughing their heads off. "Well, don't you two look like jolly old sports?"

Rome waved them over, unable to speak, with a bottle of red wine in hand.

The Caledonian boy frowned a bit and shook his head "What on earth are you two doing?" he questioned, not believing that the Roman man was drinking when it was just barely after mid-day. "Are you drunk already, you old pervert?"

The man tried to take a drink to calm down and choked, holding a hand over his mouth to suppress the alcohol and giggles. "You were late," he finally managed, "and that's the whole point of Anna Parenna ain't it?"

"And you were going to start without _us_?" Francius tossed them a 'hurt' glare.

"He insisted!" Rome waved the bottle at his fellow brunette.

"Liar."

"Anna Parenna? You... Have a holiday... Where you drink as the celebration?" Dear gods, the entire empire was a bunch of drunks!

Rome gave him a look that clearly said, "Duh! Don't you?" The patient and polite young man in the driver's seat gave a loud, irritated whistle, making him jump. "Ah, right, right. Everyone in the carriage! We'll explain it to our good newcomer along the way.

"No!" They had one where people had sex in fairly public places by the light of a bon fire, b-but it was a fertility festival, and it wasn't like he had ever participated in that part of the celebration! Sighing, Tòmas got in the carriage, followed by Aristair.

Antonius, Francius, and Marcus followed after, and since he'd selfishly kept dear Antonius all to himself, of _course_Rome would let his boys have a seat to themselves. But Francius tisked at him and caught his arm, pulling him back. "Come sit by me, Papa, I've barely gotten to talk to you at all~."

"Y-yeah, but-"

Tòmas sighed lightly and looked over at the two, but decided that sitting by Antonius would be safer. The brunette didn't seem to be interested in much anything most of the time...

"/Sit./" Aquitaine commanded, and Marcus sat, looking mollified. Being ordered around by his own son, indeed! But Francius seemed quite pleased, linking arms with his Papa and nuzzling him, cooing nonsense about how much muscle he'd packed on, that he must've been with a girl before seeing them because his skin was absolutely radient, and the like.

The brunette watched them a bit, shaking his head before realizing something, "Oh, right!" He knocked on the wood and called for the driver to go on before turning to Tòmas eagerly. "Today's the first day of the new year, ao we're riding down to the Etruia region to camp out and have picnics and stuff."

Needless to say, Caledonia was confused. They weren't even through with the dark half of the year, let alone done with the light half. Ugh. Romans were weird. "And stuff?"

He nodded. "They say you live for as many years as the cups of wine you drink today, so everyone drinks as muuuuuuu~ch alcohol as they can handle. Papa's got a good constitution, so there's a whole lot of crates up top."

"That's nonsense" Tòmas sniffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Sounds like an excuse to get drunk. Who are you celebrating this time?" He found it weird that they celebrated so many different festivals, and that they had a different god for every festival. Well, that and then some.

Antonius snickered, cause it was so true. "Anna Parenna, the 'goddess of the returning year.'" Kinda obvious, wasn't it? "Anyways, it's gonna take a while to get there, us being out in the middle of nowhere and all."

"So, how long does this last?" Tòmas questioned, quirking an eyebrow.

"Till you guys pass out and I carry ya back to camp, 'course," Rome piped in.

Tòmas stared at Rome for a moment before he realized the man wasn't joking at all "... You're serious..."

"Tòmas, my boy," he grinned, spreading his hands wide, "have I ever _not_ been serious?"

"No..." Not to his knowledge anyway "But there are many times I have wished you were" he attempted to hide the blush rising on his cheeks by glaring fiercely at Rome.

Antonius frowned a bit. "You okay, man? You've been awful red lately." Most the time he could write it off as being flushed from exercise or the like, but more and more the Caledonian's face would heat up out of nowhere. It really bothered him.

Iberia's brows furrowed, not convinced. "Hold on a second." Antonius turned Tòmas' head to face him and pushed back his bangs, and rested their foreheads together for a couple long moments, trying to figure out just how hot he was. "You might have a fever," he said, backing away, totally unaware of the waves of jealousy emanating from his little brother. "You shouldn't push yourself tonight, and I'll see if I can get the cooks to whips something up for ya."

Tòmas frowned a bit "I'm fine, really, I don't need any of your funny 'medicine' so there's no need!" he insisted, the distraction serving to let his cheeks pale back to their normal, pale shade. He, unlike most of the people at the camp, hadn't tanned, and had somehow managed to avoid _severe_ burning so far. Which he was extremely grateful for, the Caledonians that had gotten burned seemed to be in pain a lot...

Okay, so Tòmas is immune to Antonius. Good to know. A relieved Francius logged that into his mental records while an amused Rome laughed over the whole situation, not quite getting it himself. "So!" The blonde chimed in loudly before Papa had the chance to make a lewd joke, "Is anyone up for a game of tic tac toe? I'm sure you have something to write with somewhere, Papa."

"Only if the looser drinks every round~"

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><p>Tu es fou! - Are you crazy!<p> 


	8. Francius hates Faeries

Well, I'm finally getting around to posting this... *laughs awkwardly and rubs the back of my neck* I suppose my Inner!Tòmi has been distracting me from keeping the updates regular as he can't help but feel a bit more fond of Rome, and apparently doesn't like that XD

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><p>The air was warmer, out of the mountains. Spring whispered on the breeze, a few promising flowers poking out of the hillside and a hopeful rabbit or two nosing around the new grass. They couldn't get too far, since the boys would have to go back to camp eventually, but they'd managed to put enough distance behind them that the mountains looked just a little blue on the horizon. The carriage driver must/ have been getting a good tip, spending his New Year's with a bunch of loud, drunk Romans and not being able to have a little himself. Poor guy. He'd try to get a little sleep after tying the horses up to the nearest tree and leave the Romans to it.

"Alright, boys, the buck stops here. Up, up, up!" Rome himself didn't seem drunk at all, at least, not more so than he already was, even after going through a couple of bottles. He went around the side and fetched down a sheet of canvas.

Tòmas' cheeks were flushed a nice, healthy, pink, and he looked a tad bit dazed, a very uncharacteristic smile on his face "This is going ta be fun" he hummed, looking around at the other three.

Aristair, sitting a Tòmas' feet, was staring at his boy, amusement twinkling in his dark eyes and his tail wagging.

"What?" A bark "I am /not/." Another bark "No I'm not, take it back~" he pushed the dog's head away, receiving a gentle nip to his wrist in response "Owwww..."

"Are so," Francius crooned, clasping Tòmas' hand and bringing the hurt wrist to his lips.

Tòmas blinked, the blush darkening a bit "But, you don't even know what we were talking about" he mumbled, looking at Francis in mild confusion. Aristair growled playfully and Tòmas frowned "Shut up, no one asked you..." The dog only snorted in response before hopping out and stretching with a wide yawn. "Hey, I didn't mean it, come back..."

Francius giggled. "Oh, he'll be back. Dogs aren't /that/ sensitive."

There was a mild confusion on the other side of the wood. After a tipsy Antonius cried something along the lines of, 'oh, a puppy!' there was a loud crash-bang-tinkle-pop as canvas, sticks, and bottles of wine avalanched over their supervisor. "...Papa?"

"I miss him already..." Tòmas blinked, pouting a bit.

"You are," the blonde said more to himself, nodding and patting Tòmas' hand. He still hadn't let it go. "Why don't we hop out and pay him a visit, eh? Then you can apologize, and everything'll be good, okay?"

"Okay... " Tòmas said, standing up and wavering a bit, smiling as he went to get out of the carriage.

Francius stood with him, catching him around the waist when he wavered and escorted him down the steps like a good gentleman should. He snorted when he saw the pile Papa had gotten tangled in, Antonius trying to fish him out while Rome recounted this time where he'd been some poor Greek's 'catch of the day.' He could at least /try/ to get up.

"Oh! Marcus! Are you okay?" Tòmas sounded genuinely concerned for the man, and headed over to help Antonius.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," the man tipped back a bottle with a satisfied smack of the lips. "But'cha should'a seen the look on his face! No sense of decency... Well, I mean, I /was/ covered in seaweed, and sand, and this starfish was huggin' my head an' all, but really."

Tòmas snorted a little in laughter. The mental image was quite the sight~! "You must have looked like a selkie!" he said with a wide grin.

"A what?"

"They're shpeshifters... Friendly beings able to transform to human form by shedding their seal skins and can revert to seal form by putting their selkie skin back on. When in human form, they're handsome and seductive, but norrmally have sea-weed like hair" Tòmas replied, seeming confused they didn't know what Selkies were.

"So you're saying I'm handsome and seductive?" Rome smirked, having freed up enough to lean in close and cup the redhead's cheek. "How sweet." A pole slammed into his gut before he could go in for the kill.

"Oh, /I'm/ sorry, Papa! My hand just slipped." Francius carelessly dropped the pole, looking all 'flustered.'

Blushing a bit darker, Tòmas tilted his head to the side "Are you okay?" he questioned, blinking and moving a bit closer to Rome, genuine worry on his face.

"He's fine," other than the fact that the almighty and powerful Rome was clutching his abused stomach, gasping for breath. Francius pulled Tòmas up and hustled him away, calling back that they were going to get some firewood. Antonius seemed fine with that, though that meant less playing with Aristar and more actual work. Lame.

Tòmas stumbled after Francius, "Oh~ We're going to the woods~? Are we going to see the faeries~?" he cooed happily, trying to keep up so that he wouldn't fall. He liked seeing the faeries~

".../Yes./ We're going to see the /faeries,/" Francius replied, uncertainly, but anything to keep his toy with /him./ "Sneaky little devils, aren't they?" Might as well use it to his advantage. He slowed a bit, dropping back to sling an arm around Tòmas' shoulders. "You know, I've heard that the... yes, the faeries in this area like big piles of /sticks,/ so if we gather a bunch of them together in one /huge/ pile, a /lot/ of faeries might come. Does that sound good to you, Tòmi~?"

Tòmas nodded enthusiastically "Yeah! We'll get more sticks then they've ever seen!" he insisted, hurrying off to start his search.

Francius smiled and shook his head before following after. He was going to need a /lot/ more wine before this night was out.

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><p>By the time they returned, laden with various sticks, twigs, and branches, Marcus and Antonius had gotten the tent set up. A beautifully woven blanket was laid out next to it, a couple baskets of fruit, pasta, and, of course, wine, waiting for enjoyment. Obviously, they were going to miss their dinner-time curfew.<p>

Tòmas was giggling and chatting up with the fae that he had picked up during the time in the forest, a particularly chatty flower spirit was sitting on his shoulder and telling him some nonsensical story as he walked.

And Francius really couldn't /stand/ that fae. He hadn't really believed him, at first -after all, who'd heard of faeries before? Nymphs, sure, but faeries?- And then that thing showed up, and he hadn't been able to get close to the Caledonian since. Totally ruined his plans, nasty little thing.

Antonius, however, seemed absolutely fascinated with it, running past Francius to get a closer look. "Hey, who's this?" He exclaimed, "She's so tiny and cute! I've never seen anything like her!"

"She said her name is Joveti~" Tòmas said, smiling widely as the little faerie -she was only about two palms tall, as opposed for the foot that was common for woodland, meadow, or water faeries- used her gossamer butterfly-like wings to flutter over to Antonius, spider silk dress billowing a little

"Hello, its nice to meet you" she said politely, nodding a bit and smiling.

"The pleasure's all mine!" Antonius grinned widely and bowed, watching her in wonder.

Francius dumped his wood in what he assumed was supposed to be the fire place and glanced back, scowling. Stupid fae. Papa whistled, leaning his elbow on the boy's shoulder. "I haven't seen that look since the whole Cleopatra thing." Rome pushed a bottle against his chest and Francius glowered up at him, raising a brow, before taking the wine and knocking it back. "Atta' boy! No sour faces on this trip!"

Joveti smiled "Its nice to see that you're not all as grumpy as Mr. Francius" she said, giggling a bit

"He's not normally like that, Joveti, promise..." Tòmas mumbled, "Oh, but I need to take this over there" he said before wandering over to the other two, leaving the faerie to chat with Antonius while he went to dump the wood.

Rome waved at him as he came over, still using his son as an arm rest.

Tòmas dropped the wood by what Francius had brought, and waved at them both "Francius, why were you rude to the faerie? That's mean..."

Marcus laughed, poking the offender's cheek, "He's just jealous that ya brought your girlfre-" and was silenced by the bottle suddenly being shoved down his throat.

"Thanks for the drink, Pops, but I'll get my own," Francius shrugged him off, stalking away gracefully towards the picnic baskets. "Need anything, Tòmi?"

"Umm, no..." Tòmas mumbled, thoroughly confused. That was the first time he'd met Ms. Joveti, it was't like he had planned it, so why was Francius mad at him?

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><p>X3 for the next few chapters, you'll be enjoying a side of Tòmi that is for certain an adorable one, one that is vulnerable and cuddly, and just wants Francis to give him the damned bottle of wine! *brick'd for tiny spoiler*<p> 


	9. Oh god

Well, I present to you, the birth of the Drunk!Kirkland legacy! As always, I wish to give TheDawnCatcher my gracious thanks for playing a wonderful Roma~!

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><p>It wasn't long after that till Francius was as flushed as Tòmas. Night, when it came, fell quickly, but their little corner of forest glowed brightly, the fire painting the greenery gold in it's blaze.<p>

The flower Faerie had retired not long after the group resumed drinking, leaving Tòmas without a friend to talk to. As a result, the red head had soon curled up against Marcus, clutching a bottle of wine to his chest as he nibbled on food and watched the fire, wondering to himself whether they would be willing to celebrate Beltane with him.

Rome laced his fingers through his hair, lazily petting the boy, his territory, superbly pleased that the previously rebellious nation had become so docile. Maybe it was just the effect of the wine, but he would have expected the hot-tempered nation to put up much more of a fight, especially since he'd threatened the boy's manhood. Why, when he was a young kingdom under Etruia's thumb and put through all sorts of humiliation, he'd never rested until he'd gotten the bastard's head on a silver platter. But this was much nicer. Plus, going by Aquitaine's behavior, this could give him some excellent leverage.

The province in question was listening to some wild story or another that Iberia liked to spin. Usually he'd jump in with some weird twist, like if Antonius had some sailors on the Mediterranean and they ended up in a life or death struggle, Francius would bring in a kraken while the girl and the hero shagged in the Captain's quarters. It worked, amazingly. Antonius could always find a way to make it work, but now it was a little troublesome. Rome kept running interference, Francius would jab back at him, and Antonius could barely get a word in edge-wise. It had gotten to be like a war of words between the two.

Nuzzling against Rome lazily, Tòmas listened to the story as it came together, forming a fantastic show in his head. Finishing off the wine he sat up, looking around "'ey, Fr'nc's, c'n you p'ss me s'me wine?" he questioned, blinking and rubbing his eyes.

By this point Francius had really gotten into it- "Maximus ripostes!" -miming out the actions.

Marcus called out his play a little more lazily. "Justinian leaps out of the way and comes back with a diagonal slash!"

The blonde tisked, "Maximus ducks, and slashes his legs," and almost didn't hear his father's counter when Tòmas speak up, and the second or two it took his addled brain to process his request through the missing vowels gave Rome plenty of time to skewer his character. "Hey~!"

"Snooze, you loose, son." Marcus laughed.

"Oh?" Francius scowled, "Then I wonder what that says about your siestas..." He plopped down by the wine basket and plucked out one of the remaining bottles. "You can have the wine, Tòmi," he stretched and rolled his shoulders, propping the arm with the bottle in hand on one knee, "but you're gonna have to come here to get it."

Tòmas blinked, not trusting his legs to carry him over there, "N'fair!" he protested, crawling a bit towards Francius only to sit back on his feet before leaving Marcus' arm length, and reaching out for the bottle "'mme~" if one didn't know better, you could almost swear he whined.

Francius smirked, inching the bottle back, drawing him in. "Come, mon cher, you _'ave_ to do better than that."

Tòmas frowned a little, moving closer and making a grab at the bottle "Mine~ G've 't 'ere Fr'nc's!"

"A-ah-ah," Francius jerked the bottle up, dangling it just above him, leaning back a bit.

Tòmas made a rather vague sound of protest, raising up and leaning forward to get the bottle, only to fall on top of the younger boy, his grip loose on the wine bottle.

"Zere," Francius cooed, cradling his catch, gently laying a kiss next to his lips, "Zat wasn't so 'ard, was it?"

Tòmas blinked, the blush unclear whether it was alcohol induced or because of the blonde's actions "Nae... I s'pose nae..." he mumbled.

"'Course not," he murmured, finally claiming the older boy's lips for himself. It was better than he expected, warm and soft, though he still didn't quite get why Papa enjoyed it so much. Maybe if he tried this...

Tòmas paused for a minute at the kiss, before giggling a bit and smiling up at Francius "Y'kn'w... I thin'... I thin' C'mbria 's 'bou' y'r age" he murmured, smiling. up at the younger from his position.

"So?" Francius frowned, furrowing his brow.

"So what he's sayn' is," Rome reached down and lifted Tòmas up by the back of his shirt, "You're a couple hundred years too early, kid," before settling him over his shoulder.

Tòmas made a little huffing sound as tried to get himself comfortable on Rome's shoulder, though his attempts were futile, and assistance from the snoring dog located across the fire seemed unlikely. Oh well~ the dazed and drunken red head set about amusing himself by drawing Celtic knots on the tanned man holding him with his finger.

"'ey!" Francius' slightly drunken flush grew hotter as he scrambled to his feet and tripped over himself, landing flat on his face. "What does zat 'ave to do with anyzing?" Rome snorted, watching the kid try and push himself to his feet. "I may be younger, but we're almost ze same physical age! Compared to zat, you're a- a child molester!"

"So?" Rome shifted Tòmas on his shoulder. "The Greeks did it all the time."

"Is _zat_your excuse?"

"Hey, hey, calm down, Francius," Antonius said loudly and put a hand on his shoulder, smiling widely. "What's the all the fuss about, anyway? I know! Why don't we sing a song? _A sailor went to se_-"

"Shut it!" Francius shouted, shoving him off. "If you put your 'ead under ze wales would beach zemselves!"

Tòmas giggled a bit at Francius' comment towards an Antonius, before he realized that no one was paying any attention to him. Why weren't they paying attention to him? Had he done something wrong? Squirming a bit in the Roman man's hold, he tried to get more comfortable "'ey~!"

Rome laughed, slinging his free arm around his other son. "That's fine, isn't it? It's not like we have some spiteful, malicious little man with ludicrously white teeth judging us, eh? Have you heard this one? _Ah~ fareweeeeeell, my love! I~'m retuuuuuuuring hoooooome!_" Francius plugged his ears, and even the completely passed out driver jumped and fell out of the carriage. Antonius joined in over his brother's protests, filling the midnight air with drunken, discordant wails.

When that didn't get his attention, Tòmas whined a protest and squirmed about "'m righ' 'ere!" he protested, though he could barely hear himself through the 'singing'.

Francius clawed at his ears, his face screwed up in pain from the pounding in his head. Rome had let go of the struggling red head, still on his shoulder, in an attempt to grab the other boy, only to get an elbow in his teeth. "I said, _stuff it!_" That, and a shove from Tòmas sent the three sprawling in the dirt. "Ferme ta bouche quand tu chantes! You're giving me a 'ang-over!"

"You can't _give_people hangovers!" Rome protested.

"And how're we supposed to sing with our mouths closed?" Antonius looked at him cluelessly.

"St'p 'gn'rin' me" Tòmas mumbled, eyes watering a bit. H-had the fae made him invisible? Oh gods! What if they had? Moving over to the three, he plopped down in Rome's lap "'ey... 'm s'rry" he didn't know why he was apologizing "I d'nae mean 't" Didn't mean what? A little pause followed this before he leaned forward and nuzzled against the Roman's chest.

There was another small pause before- "_EH?_" -that.

"Huh?" Rome blinked, staring at him a bit in shock. "Hey, i-it's okay." Rome patted his head uncertainty. "Geez, what's gotten into you?"

Tòmas looked up at Rome, his eyes wet with tears that hadn't fallen yet. "Y-ye 're nae m'd 't me?"

"Why would I be?" Rome frowned, cocking his head to the side.

It was almost like a flip switched, the red headed's cheeks puffing in anger as he used as much strength as he could muster to clock Marcus "Th'n why 're ye 'gn'rin' me, b'st'rd!"

The man fell back with a mighty 'ghuwaffa' while Francius had to clutch his ribs to keep them from breaking. "That's not funny, Francius!" Antonius pouted, totally serious, and reached out to grab Tòmas' wrist. "Fighting might be fun for stories, but it's not good to really fight~! 'Cause we're all family now, right~?"

"I figh' wit' me br'th'rs 'll th' t'me!" Granted he didn't exactly have the best relationship with his brothers, but that didn't seem to matter at the moment "An' ye 're nae me f'm'ly!"

"But you're part'a the Roman Empire now, right?" The brunette grinned, eyes sparkling, "Everyone in the Empire's family~!"

"That's right, that's right!" Rome exclaimed, bouncing back up fully recovered, "You're all my precious sons!"

"I- I d'nae w'n' tae be p'rt 'f yer f'm'ly!" Tòmas protested, tears welling in his eyes once more. He had a family! And they were his family, no matter how bad the relationships were, they were still his, and- and- The tears fell and Caledonia's bottom lip quivered "'m a 'orrb'le b'g br't'r!" he wailed "I c'nae e'en pr't'ct me s'lf! 'ow w's I sp'sed tae pr't'ct th'm!"

"There, there, it's okay~!" The two bewildered tan nations coddled him, yammering sweet-nothing assurances one over the other. Rome in particular held the boy close, patting his back like a loving parent, "They're still your family, Tòmas. We had to go through them to get to you after all~"

That didn't help. At all. "An' I jus' stood by!" he sobbed "'m a 'orr'ble p'rs'n!" Again, his mood sitched and he shoved Rome, though he ended up falling out of the man's lap instead of pushing him down again "Th't w's y'r faul'! Ye broke 'p me f'm'ly! I 'ATE YE!"

Tòmas frowned at Antonius, not quite registering what he said before the red head scrambled to his feet and ran off, Aristair cracking an eye before following after the red head.

"Oh, now look at what you did," Francius abashed him, giving his brother a withering glance. "He's getting away!"

Rome looked after his fleeing, incredibly drunk Drama Queen, hummed thoughtfully a second and snapped his fingers, "Got it!" He grinned, hopping up and pushing past the boys, calling, "First one to catch him wins~!" over his shoulder.

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><p>Ah, hey, look, when he's drunk he talks the same way he does now!... If that is what causes it, I wonder if we should be worried for Modern!Tòmi's liver XD<p>

Cambria is what the area now known as Wales was called at the time

_Ferme ta bouche quand tu chantes!_ - Close your mouth when you're singing! ("your mouth stinks")


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